


Help

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional canon characters appear in later chapters, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, James Barnes is not a trained therapist, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Self-harming Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: A noise is keeping Bucky awake. When he realizes what it is, he also realizes he ought to help. He just doesn't quite know how.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a request from Tumblr.

There’s a noise keeping him up.

Back during the war, he’d been able to fall asleep anywhere. Sitting up, lying down, leaning against a tree, on a bench, on the ground… Dead silence, during a siege, in HYDRA captivity. Anywhere, anytime.

After, he hadn’t much needed sleep. He was tired, but he didn’t sleep. He only waited.

Nowadays, things are a bit less cut and dry. It’s easier to sleep—he’s graduated to an actual mattress on a bed frame and everything, and a few weeks ago he had his first long nap on the sofa—but he can still _ hear _so much. It doesn’t matter if he’s listening.

He’s got a pair of noise canceling headphones now. They’re rarely worn, given how much of a disadvantage they put him at, but his upstairs neighbor is making him seriously reconsider.

But before he goes the easy—well, less hard; he’ll never call sleeping with weakened senses _ easy_—route, he might as well listen.

It’s a repetitive noise, that much he’d already figured. But with an extra bit of focus, Bucky realizes that noise canceling headphones are the wrong way to go.

Back in the forties, he’d never barge in on a neighbor. But it’s not the forties, and he’s met you plenty of times. Even had coffee a couple times, when he’d run into you at the cafe you both like down the block. So… you’re friends. Or acquaintances, at least.

He sits up, sheet bunching around his waist as he peers up at his ceiling, your floor. No, he’s not gonna barge in. He’s not gonna knock. He’s not… equipped for all that.

At least he has your number. So… maybe he’ll text.

* * *

“Thanks for coming,” you mumble. Your sleeves are drawn low, a detail Bucky’s sure not to miss. But he’ll have to deal. A visit from someone who’s still most of a stranger is the best distraction. Unlike with friends, you’re not quite sure how to turn him down. Your friends… well, there’s few you see on days like today, nights like tonight. But turning down Bucky would be rude. Or something.

At any rate, he’s hardly going to judge. He’s dealt with enough shit to know better.

Of course, it’s awkward. He’s not comfortable in your space—he steps slowly, carefully around your furniture, settles timidly on your couch, links his hands between his knees. You tuck your feet under you as you sit beside him, forcing a smile.

“So, um, how’s things?” you ask.

Bucky blinks. “Me? I’m fine.”

Was he not expecting you to ask after him?

… Well.

Maybe not. You know who he is. You know why he texted; he could hear you.

Anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything wrong. Just the usual tricks to you keep from cutting for real. You are getting better, even if you have bad days.

But does Bucky know that?

“I’m alright too,” you tell him, before he had a chance to ask.

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I wasn’t really hurting myself.” You fiddle with the ends of your sleeves, and then you pull one up. There’s a row of rubber bands digging into your arm.

Bucky’s eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hairline; his eyes are like dinner plates. It’s enough to make you roll your eyes.

“It’s an alternative,” you explain. You pull one of the bands up and it twangs against your skin. “Better than—well, better than the alternative.”

The rubber bands hide the scars across your arm, but someone you know that Bucky understands what you mean.

He studies you for a long moment while you pull your sleeves back down into place.

“Well,” he says slowly, “I’m not always around, but if you ever need some distracting, you can always try me. Got it?”

Without thinking, you reach out and squeeze the hand resting on his thigh. Bucky’s eyes flit down to your hand on his—you pull away at once—and back to your face.

“Got it,” you repeat.

He nods. “Okay,” he says. He takes a deep breath and shifts back until he's properly settled into the cushions. For the first time all night, he smiles. “So. You seen that new Star Wars movie yet?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a misunderstanding at Wanda's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt based on the following from Gossip Girl: "You're not my boyfriend!" / "No, but I seem to be the only one you tell all your secrets to."

“I’m so glad you could come!”

Wanda’s hug is tight, warm; her perfume is sweet and spicy. The lace on her dress is rough against your bare arms as you awkwardly hug her back.

“Me too,” you tell her.

It’s not a lie, not quite, but it is _ weird _ to be at a wedding with a robot as the groom. Android? Is that more accurate? Who knows—certainly not you.

“You ought to bring your girlfriend to more things, Bucky,” Wanda says as she hugs him.

Bucky snorts, though his eyes dart to yours. You purse your lips, waiting for him to correct her—but he doesn’t.

“Hey, she’s the shy one. Congratulations, Wanda.” He kisses her cheek and lets her go as the next batch of guests approach.

Six steps away and with a drink safely in hand, you frown up at him. “You’re not my boyfriend, Bucky. Why didn’t you correct her?”

“Why didn’t you?” He spots your seats in an instant—of course he does—and leads you on a twisty path through the tables.

“Because,” you answer, “I’m here as your guest. I’m not here to make it awkward for a bride on her wedding day.”

Bucky grins as he pulls out his chair. “There you go. If you wouldn’t, why should I?”

“Besides, a _ real _ boyfriend would have pulled out my chair for me.” You finagle yourself and your fancy dress into your seat. “You’re _ so _ not my boyfriend.”

“No, but I seem to be the only one you tell your secrets too.” Bucky looks pointedly at your crossed arms.

You shift in your seat, eyes stinging, and adjust the wide bracelets on your wrists.

“You know that’s not true,” you murmur. “It’s not.”

“Well, maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I’m the only one you call these days just because I live so close.” Bucky squeezes your arm gently. “But we don’t have to talk about it now.”

Another couple slides into the chairs on Bucky’s other side, more faces you know from brief introductions and newsreels before. You take a steeling breath and greet them, not all of your cheer forced.

No, you don’t have to talk about it now, but…

Bucky’s right.

He’s right, and you can only hope he won’t mind if you want him to be your boyfriend for real.

You glance at him, at his bright eyes and his thoughtful grin and the way he tilts his head and his body towards you as though he can tell you’re looking. You nudge his knee with your own, smiling.

You hope he won’t mind.

Even if he _ will _ have to pull your chair out for you.


End file.
